


That Siren Song

by achray



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Slash, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achray/pseuds/achray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You asked me to always be truthful with you, after – " he said.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” said Foggy, warily. “What have you done?”</p>
<p>Matt grimaced. “I’m kind of – sleeping with Tony Stark.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With many, heartfelt thanks to prettyarbitrary for cheerleading and beta reading on this.
> 
> This contains spoilers for Season 1. My knowledge of these fandoms is entirely limited to the TV and movie, and will probably remain so, so I'm sorry if this is way out of line with canon from elsewhere. Plus, this is the first time I've written American characters in fic. Superior fandom knowledge and notes about any overly British phrasing very welcome.
> 
> I could do with some more Daredevil fans on my dash: if you're posting about the series, please come and tell me to follow you on tumblr!

“Hey,” said Clint, strolling in and glancing at the screen, “is there popcorn? No-one told me it was movie night.” He ruffled Natasha’s hair on the way past and swung himself onto the sofa.

“Jarvis,” said Tony. “You heard the man.”

Jarvis sighed, in a barely audible, put-upon way. “Request noted and refused. Sir,” he said.

Tony glanced sideways at Natasha, who was frowning intently at the screen. “Pretty impressive for your first major action feature: no, seriously, have you considered a career in the movies? A little slow-motion, get some John Woo going…” he gestured.

On the screen, the man in the red and black suit flipped over twice, neatly kicking the gun away from one assailant while ducking a blow from the second.

“Amateurs,” said Natasha.

“You mean the bad guys, or…?” said Tony.  “Or, wait, are we still on action movie directors? Because I have some thoughts.”

“He’s going to get killed, soon,” said Natasha. “He was lucky with Fisk. That empire was unstable before he showed up, it was only a matter of time.”

“I hate that fat fucker,” said Tony, absently. “Reminds me of Obadiah. Plus, I heard he’s engaged to one of my exes.”

“Did she trade up, or down?” said Clint, thoughtfully.

 “Fuck off,” said Tony. “I bought every painting in her gallery so that she could get off work early and have dinner with me, and then she dumped me after three weeks. I had to have Pepper found a whole new art museum somewhere. Kansas? Ohio?”

He cocked his head slightly and surveyed the continuing exchange of blows.

“So you were there,” he said. “Super-strength? Magic mask? Visitor from another dimension slash galaxy? Or are we just talking…” He made an expansive motion towards the other two.

“The mask,” said Natasha. She picked up the remote and hit pause, then zoomed in on the screen. “No eye-holes. You can’t see through that fabric, it’s too dense. He upgraded the costume, but it still wouldn’t let him see.”

“I love it when feminine insight comes in handy,” said Tony.

“I’ve worn similar masks,” said Natasha.

“Jesus, that’s profound, your therapist will eat this up - ”

“This guy doesn’t use his eyes.” She hit play. “Watch how his head tilts – there, see? He was _listening_.”

“Sweet,” said Clint. He lent forward, studying the screen. The assailants were finally down, but so was the Daredevil, curled round his ribs, blending into the darkness of the alley. He uncurled, painfully, and levered himself slowly off the ground.

“Homicidal, phantom of the opera issues, looks hot in a bodysuit, handles his sticks well, great listener…did you ask him for a date after you stopped the video? Because I’m seeing a spark here.”

“Tony,” said Natasha. “Shut up. The Russians, in Hell’s Kitchen? And the Japanese and Chinese; he took out significant chunks of their operation. Rumour there has it that he supplied the evidence that brought down Fisk. And as far as anyone knows, he’s acting on his own initiative.”

“I’m all about initiative,” said Tony.

“Yeah,” said Clint, slowly, watching as the man walked off-screen. It looked as though holding himself straight was costing him some effort. “But some kid knocking around his local patch, getting a bit of press on the slow days – I mean, I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to give him a few tips, but how is this our business? New York must be full of vigilantes, right?”

Tony shrugged. “Jarvis?” he said.

“Three thousand and twenty-four,” said Jarvis. “Would you like me to break those down into category?”

“I asked him to record all the Iron Man wannabes,” said Tony. “I like to keep track of my fans. And your fans, just to be sure that I have more.”

“Jarvis, do you have a record of how many of those reach this level of expertise?” asked Natasha.

There was a thoughtful pause.

“I am not programmed to judge technique with complete accuracy. But I would estimate that excluding present company and known associates thereof, none,” said Jarvis, neutrally.

“He’s getting noticed,” said Natasha. “He doesn’t know how to stay under the radar.”

 “Either the bad guys or – well, the good guys – are going to get hold of him any day now, and that’ll be the last anyone sees of him,” predicted Clint. “Shame. The whole sensing your opponents thing is kind of interesting.”

“And the outfit _is_ kind of hot,” said Tony. “I think I might…” he raised an eyebrow at Natasha, “…look into this – situation.”

Natasha snorted.

“What?” said Tony. “I’m bored, some young thing needs my fatherly advice on the whole superhero game – “

“Fatherly?” said Clint, incredulous.

“ – Pepper dumped me, I’m all alone, and I finished that thing last week, you know, the thing -”

“Six months ago she dumped you, and instead of getting her _back_ you’ve been with a new person every weekend, and yet you’re still playing the ‘poor me’ card – “ said Clint.

“Have you ever been to Hell’s Kitchen?” said Natasha, coolly.

“Absolutely,” said Tony. Natasha’s lips curled, very slightly. “Or not. Except for this bar I went to one time, does that count? It was on 51st,52nd – oh, fuck it, I have no idea. But evidently I _should_ get to know the place, check out the local eateries – up and coming, right, that’s what we’re seeing, in the post-Fisk era? Rapidly gentrifying?”

Natasha stood up and stretched. Tony shut up and appreciated it: discreetly, so that she wouldn’t kick him in the head.

“Call me when you bring him in,” she said, and wandered off.

“ _Now_ I feel sorry for him,” said Clint.

**

 As usual, it was raining. Matt could hear Karen and Foggy arguing semi-amicably over the coffee maker from the bottom of the stairs. He thought about giving them a few more minutes of flirtatious banter to themselves – Marcie had taken a job in London a month ago, and Foggy was still a little down about it – but the rain had started to seep into his shoes.

“See, proper law firms have espresso machines,” Foggy was saying, mournfully, as Matt opened the office door and dripped his way in. “We could afford espresso, right, Matt? Because I think Karen slaughtered the coffee maker and replaced it with its evil twin.”

Karen was laughing. “My coffee is _fine_ ,” she protested. “Matt, you want a coffee, right?”

“Umm,” Matt said. “I had one. Earlier.”

“See?” said Foggy, affection curling round his tones. “See, I _told_ you. Even Matt recognizes that your coffee is bad to the bone.”

“You want an espresso machine, we need more clients,” said Karen. “Rich clients.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t tend to be into the idea of a law firm that helped bring down one of the city’s richest men,” said Foggy.

Matt paused in hanging his damp suit jacket on his chair. “There’s someone coming up the stairs,” he said.

“Seriously?” said Foggy.

“Oh my God,” said Karen. “Look busy!” She snatched what sounded like a heap of papers off the nearest desk and shoved them into Foggy’s arms, just as there was a knock on the door.

Matt sat behind his desk. He could feel Foggy hovering indecisively by Karen’s side.

“Come in,” she called, smoothing her hair.

The door opened. Karen made an indecipherable noise. Foggy dropped the papers. Matt tensed – a man in top-end cologne, hair products, the whisper of expensive cloth, handmade shoes –

“Good morning,” said Tony Stark.

**

Matt had never seen Iron Man, of course. He wasn’t sure the visual had translated very well in the interpretive efforts of Foggy and his college friends, either. But he’d seen Stark. Stark the boy inventor, the teen genius, the playboy in the gossip columns doing things that an eight-year old boy didn’t understand; of all the gods and supposed heroes who had nearly razed his home to the ground, Stark and Captain America were the only ones who had a face, in his mind’s eye, to match to the voice.

“Welcome to…to Nelson and Murdock,” said Karen bravely, her voice quavering.  ‘How can, er, we – help you? Sir.”

Foggy had gathered up the papers and was sidling into Matt’s office.

“It’s _Tony Stark_ ,” he hissed, not at all subtly, while placing the files on Matt’s desk.

“I know,” said Matt. He stood up and moved round the desk, deliberately knocking into it a little. He always felt he could tell from the quality of silence when someone’s eyes caught on the glasses, the cane, the careful blankness of his expression, and joined the dots.

“A _pleasure_ to meet you,” said Stark to Karen. “I’m Tony Stark, call me Tony. And you must be part of the firm?”

“Oh,” said Karen, “No, umm, I’m the secretary. Or I mean, administrator. I sort of – I, umm, keep things…ticking along.” She laughed, slightly hysterically. “I’m, er… Karen, Karen Page, and this is, umm, M - Mr Murdock and Mr Nelson.”

Matt bristled and felt Foggy do the same, though for different reasons.

“Marvellous,” said Stark, warmly. “Well, gentlemen, I find myself in need of some lawyers. Loved your previous work, so - ” Matt heard him make some kind of expansive gesture, “here I am.”

 “Of course, we’d be delighted – “ started Foggy.

“We practice _criminal_ law,” said Matt. He folded his arms.

“Whatever,” said Stark. “How about I pay you a substantial retainer, we establish that I’m your client, and then we have a chat – “

“Actually, we’re not taking on any more clients at the moment. Sorry to disappoint,” said Matt.

“Matt!” said Foggy. “Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just have a quick word with my partner, he’s, umm, going through some stuff at the moment…two seconds.”

He took Matt by the elbow, closed the door to his office and leant against it, as though worried that Matt was going to break through and insult Stark some more. Karen said something nervous and Stark responded, charm oozing through his tone.

“Oh Christ, tell me she’s not offering him the coffee,” said Foggy. “Matt, what are you _doing_? It’s Tony Stark! He’s the richest man in New York, or God, the world, I don’t know. _In our office_. Shit, I don’t fucking believe this is happening, pinch me, I think I had this exact same dream once…”

“Foggy, Stark does not need lawyers. He owns law _firms_. Whatever he wants from us, it’s not going to be good.”

“I don’t care,” said Foggy. His tone went hushed and reverential. “He’s _Iron Man_.”

“He’s a dick,” said Matt. “We don’t need this, we’re doing good work here, helping people in the neighbourhood, making things better – “

“Yes, and next month we won’t be able to pay the _rent_ ,” said Foggy, in a furious whisper. “Look, let’s be clear, I’m all for doing the right thing, as always. But if you’re planning to throw away whatever God-given opportunity this is, I swear to God I will knock you out with my baseball bat now, and then I will fucking take his money and worry about the ulterior motives later, by the light of the electricity that is about to get fucking cut off if we don’t pay our bills – “

“OK,” said Matt. “OK, calm down.” He took a breath, and let it out. “What if he’s here for, um, me? I mean, other me?”

“What?” said Foggy. “Oh, _that_ other you. We don’t know that, right?” He gripped Matt’s shoulders and shook them a bit. “Right? Plus he’s a genius superhero, he’s not going to, like, take you out or whatever. So let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and go out there and be civil, OK? Please, buddy, just give it a shot.”

Matt sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I don’t like it, but fine.”

Foggy opened the office door, shepherding Matt out. Matt could feel his ingratiating grin. He composed his own features into an expression some way short of a smile.

“Mr Stark,” said Foggy. “Nelson and Murdock would be delighted to act for you, in whatever, er, capacity you might require. My partner was a little overcome – we do have a heavy workload, naturally…”

“Naturally,” said Stark, gravely and entirely insincerely. Matt placed him as half-sitting on Karen’s desk, turned towards her.

Karen giggled in a besotted way, for no apparent reason.

Matt listened to Stark’s heartbeat. It sounded normal, regular. He’d read the descriptions of the arc reactor, pictured in his head as some kind of metal circle, glowing bright, and he’d read that Stark had been – fixed, cured, something like that. And then there’d been some drama with his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, which had been inescapably all over the news six months or so ago, he hadn’t followed it.

“Shall we go through to my office?” said Foggy.

“Well,” said Stark. “Karen here was just telling me that she’s always admired Stark Tower, so I thought we might combine business with pleasure, and hold our meeting there.”

Karen gave a stifled shriek. Matt felt Stark’s attention on him, like a challenge.

“Unless you have other client meetings, of course,” Stark said. “I could have you back here by mid-morning.”

Foggy swallowed, hard. “Whatever would be most convenient to you,” he said, aiming for smooth and missing it by a mile.

“Excellent,” said Stark. “I left my driver outside.” He stood up.

“Let me – fetch my – briefcase,” said Foggy, and disappeared into his office, probably for a private moment of ecstasy.

Matt shrugged his wet jacket back on and picked up his cane. Stark was holding the door.

“After you,” he said politely to Karen.

Matt glared in the general direction of Stark’s face. They clattered down the dingy staircase, and out onto the street. Foggy let out a small moan when he saw the car. Karen’s heartbeat was racing. Matt bit his lip, annoyed with both of them. He hoped no-one was on the street to see this, to wonder why one of the Avengers had popped up in Hell’s Kitchen.

“So,” said Stark to Matt, as the car glided silently through the morning streets. “You’re really blind, right?”

Matt stiffened further at the phrasing. “Yes,” he said, and turned his face towards the window.

“Hmm,” said Stark. “How many fingers – no, only joking.”

“Matt can do everything,” said Karen, loyally. “You wouldn’t even notice.”

“Born that way?” said Stark. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Accident, when I was nine,” said Matt, briefly.

“It was a chemical spill, from a truck,” said Foggy, overly eager to share private information with a near-complete stranger.

“Uh- _huh_ ,” said Stark. “Chemicals, what do you know. Dangerous things.”

Matt opened his mouth to say that it wasn’t like that, and then closed it again, frustrated.  

Stark gave it up, and spent the rest of the journey showing Foggy and Karen the drinks cabinet and entertainment system in the limo, while they behaved like five-year olds in a candy factory rather than responsible members of a reputable law firm. Things were even worse inside Stark Tower. Matt was embarrassed for them: sure, the views were probably impressive and the place was full of unnecessary expensive technology, but there was no need to go overboard with the sycophantic admiration.

He kept his senses on full alert – someone had to – but there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the part of the building they were in, at least. The penthouse apartment, apparently. You would think this would have raised some suspicions in Foggy’s mind, but evidently he thought it was totally normal for multi-millionaires to entertain their lawyers in their private residence. Which it might be, for all he knew, Matt acknowledged reluctantly. His suit felt cheaper with every minute he spent in the place, and his shoes were making a slight squelching sound on the polished stone floors.

“Shall we discuss your case?” he said eventually, after about an hour of ooh-ing and aah-ing and Stark offering everyone state-of-the-art espresso.

“Ah yes, the case,” said Stark. “You know, I need a few minutes to gather my thoughts on that. Mr Nelson, Karen, I wondered if you’d like to see the view from the helipad? Up those stairs and keep going, shout for Jarvis if you get lost and he’ll direct you. Mr Murdock, you’re welcome to wait here.”

“Do you mind, Matt?” said Foggy. Karen was practically half-way out the door already.

There were times when Matt really wished he could shoot Foggy a meaningful look, in this case one that would say; friends do not leave friends alone with an insane multibillionaire who probably knows about their alter ego.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Feel free to have a look around!” called Stark after them. “Thor has a bedroom somewhere up there. He’s in a galaxy far, far away right now so you can go through his stuff!”

Matt turned his head to follow Stark’s steps to the part of the room that he thought was a kitchen. There was a movement, disturbance, danger, and without any conscious thought he had swiveled 45 degrees, his hand extended to pluck something out of the air. His fingers had curled round it and recognized it as an orange before he realized what he had done.

“Thought so,” said Stark. “Nice. Can you do that?”

“Usually,” said a female voice.

Matt turned towards it, profoundly unsettled. He hadn’t known there was anyone else in the room. He parsed the voice rapidly, and came up with Romanov, the Black Widow. He wanted to go into a defensive crouch, to fight, but Stark was an unpredictable opponent, and if half of what he had heard and read about Romanov was true, she would win.

And he wasn’t the Daredevil here, the man in the mask. He was a lawyer.

“My, umm, colleague,” said Stark. “Natasha.”

He heard her approach, but he thought that might be because she was allowing him to.

“Good to meet you,” she said, from just in front of him.

His fingernails were leaving dents in the orange, the other hand gripping his cane. “And you,” he said, and mustered a smile. “Matt Murdock. I’m a lawyer.”

“I’ve seen you fight,” she said. He had a sense of being surveyed. “Your technique needs a little work. Who taught you?”

“I’m a _lawyer_ ,” said Matt. “I have no idea – “

“Jarvis,” said Stark.

“I matched him to the video footage with 100% accuracy, sir,” said Jarvis. “Our footage, and that in the public domain. Within two minutes of his entering the building.”

“I filmed you,” said Natasha.

Matt felt his shoulders sag. He’d wondered since he started this, what it would feel like to be exposed, wondered if it might come as a relief. To have Foggy know had been bad enough. To have others look at him, and see – that…

Every inch of this building was covered in cameras, with inaudible entities watching him. He hadn’t heard her. Anyone could have seen him, God, film of him could be anywhere, and he would never know.

“What, you thought you would keep your secret identity secret forever?” said Stark. “Young, male, reasonable level of intelligence and initiative, extensive training, detailed local knowledge of Hell’s Kitchen and surrounding areas, New York accent, dark hair, Caucasian, oh and _registered blind_ – Took me less than an hour.“

“Ignore him,” said Natasha. “I keep an eye on the main Russian players in town, that’s how I heard about you in the first place. I’ve been watching out since then. No-one else knows, no-one else will know. We have access to resources that your enemies don’t.”

“Plus, we’re the good guys,” Stark added.

“Yeah?” said Matt. He straightened his shoulders, let his accent thicken. “Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t feel like it from where I’m standing. You know what we do every day, in our firm? Help the people getting screwed over because the big guns wrecked half our neighbourhood and now the sharks are fighting over the scraps. And if that’s maybe what I do by night as well, then so what? You saved the world, you save the President, sure, and the rest of the time you’re hanging out in your penthouse or in Miami, or flying overhead, you have no idea what’s going on in the city you live in. I’ve spent my whole life in Hell’s Kitchen. Have you ever even _been_ there, before today?” He waited for an answer.

“I’ve – passed through,” said Stark.

“That’s what I thought,” said Matt. “I don’t know why you brought me here and dragged my friends and partner into this, but I think you should let us get back to work. We both know you don’t need anything from us, and we sure as hell don’t need anything from you.”

He stopped, breathing hard. Shit, he had lectured the _Avengers_. The Black Widow was probably going to throw him off the helipad any minute now.

“Believe it or not,” said Stark, “we thought we might help. Natasha here has offered to train with you, an offer which any red-blooded man would have to be certifiably insane to turn down. And I’m guessing you’re going to say no, but I have some technology in development which could be of use to you. Plus, if we’re talking about your day job, if I say I’m going to hire some lawyers, I mean it. I’ve had a rough six months –”

Matt heard Natasha snort slightly.

“ – And as a _minor_ consequence,” said Stark, “there are at least – oh, twelve or so lawsuits pending against me. All my other lawyers are sanctimonious corporate assholes. I _like_ your partner. And I like your secretary – who is smoking hot as well as pretty smart, by the way, and also maybe a little bit in love with you, in case you hadn’t used your super-senses to figure that out.”

“Oh,” said Matt. Stark sounded – about as sincere as might be possible for him.

“Give me your phone,” said Natasha.

“Umm,” said Matt. He fumbled in his pocket, self-consciously, and then held it out in front of him. A cool hand, long fingers, took it. He heard the beeps of typing, and then she brushed his hand and returned it.

“In your contacts list under Natasha,” she said. “I’m free after 9 tonight and tomorrow. If you want to train, call and I’ll pick you up.”

“I’m going to offer you and your partner a case to work on either way,” said Stark. “It’s not quid pro quo. I checked your credentials, and I think you can handle it. I’d keep your involvement quiet, though, or you might attract media attention you don’t want.”

Matt heard Foggy and Karen on the stairs above, chatting giddily.

“They’re coming back,” he said.

“Man, I wish I could do that,” said Stark. “So, are we on?”

Matt took a breath. He thought about Foggy and Karen’s delight, about having a case to get their teeth into. He thought about knowing more about Tony Stark.

“OK,” he said. “Catch.” And he threw the orange back at Stark, a slow arc, giving him time.

**

By the time they got back to the office, there was a messenger there with a giant pile of hard copy files, contracts and non-disclosure agreements, and they each had a whole new set of emails. One copy of everything was in Braille. Matt couldn’t help wondering if Stark had planned this, if he’d had all these files ready to go.

Foggy was flicking through them. “Sexual harassment, sexual harassment, paternity suit – wrongful dismissal, there’s a change – oh, wait, fired for not responding to our client’s advances, assault, more assault. Jesus, we’ve got some reading up to do.”

“You’re the ones who wanted him as a client,” said Matt.

“Um, guys, I just checked the firm’s account?” called Karen. “Foggy, you want to see this?”

Foggy headed through to lean over Karen’s shoulder. Matt got started on the first file.

“Well?” he said, when he heard Foggy coming back in.

“I’m not going to tell you,” said Foggy, “because you have this Puritan streak about money. Let’s just say my loyalty is thoroughly bought.”

“I’m Catholic,” said Matt. “Puritan is Protestant.”

“Whatever,” said Foggy. “You can give your fee to the widows and orphans after we’ve earned it. Now shut up, Murdock, we’ve got work to do.”

Stark showed up the next morning carrying a tray of flat whites, which Foggy fell on like a man dying of thirst in the desert. There was something different about him, and it took Matt a whole minute to pinpoint it as his clothes: he was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket, and everything about him read as more relaxed.

“OK, my new lawyer friends,” he said. “You like to represent the innocent. I am totally, 100% innocent, I could not be more innocent if I had a fucking halo on my head and was playing sweet music on the harp.” He flipped through the files. “This DNA test, in the paternity suit? Faked.”

“How do you know?” said Matt. Stark’s pulse was entirely steady.

“It doesn’t matter how I know. What matters is that you two are going to prove it for me,” Stark said. “And this one?”

“The, er, pizza delivery guy?” said Foggy. Matt frowned. He must not have got to that case yet.

“Sure, I f – had sex with him,” said Stark. “He was hot, I was newly single, it was no big deal. Plus, he sold the story to _People_ magazine for $20,000. Does that sound like – ” he turned a page “– ‘ongoing trauma’ to you?”

“Hey, I saw that story!” said Karen, coming in with a fresh batch of papers. “I mean, I read it at the hairdresser’s.”

Matt blinked. It _was_ no big deal, obviously. He’d have thought someone might have mentioned that Tony Stark swung both ways, but hey, wasn’t like he’d spent much time reading the guy’s press.

“Don’t believe everything you read,” said Stark. “Except the part about how great I am in bed, that bit was true.”

“If we could go through these from the beginning – ” said Matt.

“Absolutely,” said Stark. “I’m all yours.”


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next month or two, Stark showed up every few days, even when there wasn’t a meeting scheduled. It was true that there was a lot of work to put in on his cases. But he also seemed strangely willing to hang out at the office, gossiping with Karen and quizzing Foggy about the best pizza in the area, and spinning stories about high society which Matt was privately sure were total bullshit.

“I don’t know, man, maybe he’s lonely?” said Foggy, when Matt wondered about this aloud. “When he broke up with Pepper Potts, that was a big deal. He’s got, like, superhero friends, but I never heard that he knew a ton of normal people.”

Am I normal, then, to you?, Matt thought. He didn’t ask. He’d accepted that he was faking it a long time ago. That was why he found Stark so unsettling, he thought; Stark didn’t even bother trying. But then, he’d been very rich and very famous for a long, long time.

After a battle with himself and his pride, Matt had called Romanov. He’d never trained with anyone except Stick. Romanov – Natasha - was entirely different, all fluid grace, until she suddenly hit you with lethal force. And she was tough: after their first round, Matt threw out any thoughts about being gentle with a woman and gave it his best shot, and was miserably defeated, time after time. She was also utterly professional. Matt was curious, he couldn’t help it, about her past, and her present, her friendship – if that’s what it was – with Stark. But she never mentioned anything outside fighting technique, not once, and he didn’t want to pry.

He hadn’t met any of the other Avengers, if they were around. He didn’t especially want to. There was no denying, though, that Stark – Tony – had been good for Nelson and Murdock. Word had got round that they were acting for Stark, not surprisingly, given that one of his cars and drivers was stationed outside the office several times a week, and new clients were popping up on a daily if not hourly basis. Foggy had finally bought a new suit, or so Karen claimed.

And Natasha had been good for the Daredevil. Matt hadn’t thought about Fisk and his constantly delayed trial in weeks, and after each session in Tony’s state of the art gym, he slept without nightmares. Maybe the opponents were less good, but it felt like he was winning fights easier, faster; he hadn’t been injured in a while. The only shadow was the continued darkness in Karen’s voice, but he let himself think that it was shading away, getting better, so that it was almost possible to forget.

The day the first case was settled in Tony’s favour, they all went to Josie’s, and Tony got Josie to smile at him, told a succession of filthier and filthier jokes, made the whole bar join him in singing Irish revolutionary ballads and then drank Foggy and Karen literally under the table and had to be helped out to his car by Matt, heavy arm slung round his neck, leaning against him.

Gradually, it stopped being odd that he was on first-name terms with two of the most famous people in the world.

**

Tony watched the screen, absently eating Doritos, beer to one side. Matt had shown up with his costume today, rather than his usual ratty practice clothes. Tony itched to dress him better. He and Natasha and Tony had had a long discussion about the costume fabric, which was pretty impressively done for an amateur, Tony had to admit. He wasn’t sure about the horns, though.

Natasha spun and kicked and Matt caught her leg, flipped her, and then ducked as she came up punching.

The door to the surveillance room opened, and Tony glanced around.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” he said.

“We wrapped up the situation in Arizona quicker than expected,” said Clint. “Fury wants Nat in Washington by tomorrow morning, thought I’d drop by and pick her up. He wants to speak to you, too. Says he needs an update on your latest project, and why are you hanging out in bars in Hell’s Kitchen when you’re meant to be sorting out that upgrade.”

“I’m clearing out my court cases,” said Tony. “Very distracting, lawsuits.”

“Uh-huh,” said Clint. He looked over Tony’s shoulder.

“That’s the Daredevil guy, isn’t it? Doesn’t look bad. How’s that fatherly advice thing working out for you?”

“Fury hasn’t mentioned the Daredevil, has he?”

“Not to me. Maria hasn’t either. Doesn’t mean they don’t know.”

“Tell him I’m very busy in the lab,” said Tony. “Very, very busy. No interruptions.”

“Watch yourself,” said Clint. He hesitated. “Umm. Maria mentioned that Pepper was dating someone, some Google engineer?”

Tony grimaced. “I heard,” he said. He looked round. “Thanks for your concern, I’m fine, now get lost.”

Clint rolled his eyes and slipped out.

Tony sighed. The fight was over, and Natasha and Matt were standing close together, talking. She lifted his arm and put a hand on his chest, turning him, clearly running back through one of the moves.

“Jarvis,” he said, heaving himself up. “I’ll be in the lab. Switch it all on.” He glanced one more time at the screen. “And store this footage with the rest, will you?”

On the screen, Matt had taken off the mask and was smiling in Natasha’s direction, hair all over the place.

Tony curled his lip, picked up his beer, and walked out.

**

He should have known things had been going too well to last, Matt thought, grimly. He’d heard a girl scream in an alley, got there as fast as he could, located a body and bent over her, sick to the stomach, running his hands over her to see where she was hurt – and then she’d uncoiled and come up fighting, hard, with a friend running to join her from either end of the alley.

He thought a thanks to Natasha as he kicked out at her head, without hesitation., at the same time deflecting a blow from the other side. She was down, but that still left two against one. These guys were trained. He ducked away half a second too slow, and a punch landed on his side, knocking him down, but he kicked as he fell and felt it connect solidly. He took a blow to the face, somersaulted, slashed left and paused: one left. He wasn’t fighting, he had stopped, breathing heavily.

“Tell me who sent you or you’ll go straight from here to intensive care,” said Matt.

“I’ve got a message for you from my boss,” said the man. Matt placed him as fortyish, out of town, slight Greek accent, less in shape than his friends.

“Then deliver it,” he said.

“Your friend Miss Page. Ask her how much she likes to shoot. Ask her about James Wesley. We’re watching her.” He paused. “That’s it.”

“And who’s your boss?” said Matt, through his teeth. He felt like ripping this man apart, leaving him in shreds and patches.

“I can’t say,” said the man, “because I don’t know who hired me for this job. I got hand-delivered instructions to my door with cash and surveillance photos of my wife, my kids, I’ve never seen these other guys before tonight either.” His voice quavered. “They say you don’t kill people, right?”

He wasn’t lying. Matt punched him in the head in lieu of answering, and called 911 from his phone.

He went to his apartment, stripped out of the suit, and stood in the shower for a long time. There were bruises on his cheeks and his ribs hurt, but they weren’t broken, just badly bruised. Wesley’s death had never been solved; the presumption was that Leland or Gao had done it. Karen had been different since then, though. He didn’t want to talk to Karen, not yet at least, not after all she’d – they’d – been through. He couldn’t talk to Foggy about Karen, either. He punched the wall of the shower in frustration. This was supposed to be done, dealt with, moving on. If Karen had secrets in her past, well, God knows so did he. But if he didn’t know what those secrets were, how could he hope to keep her, them, safe?

He got out of the shower, dressed, and sat in the dark, thinking. It was nearly 2am. He groped for his phone, held it a moment, and then called Tony.

**

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, on Tony’s sofa, holding a glass of whiskey. Tony smelled of high-quality Scotch, and had clearly been half-way to drunk when he answered the phone. He was barefoot, unwound.

“Do you know how many people _I’ve_ killed?” he said. “Look, this Wesley character was not winning awards for humanitarian of the year. So maybe Karen shot him, who cares? Presumably she didn’t do it for kicks.”

“I’ve never killed anyone,” said Matt. “I’m Catholic, did I tell you that? There’s this priest I know, he thinks – well. I think he thinks I have to be careful. Like, if I start, I might not be able to stop.” He took a large slug of whiskey, to stop himself talking.

“You’re wallowing,” said Tony. “I should know, I’ve been doing it for months. Look, kid, I’m not exactly the wise mentor type, plus, right now I am happy to admit that I’m even more fucked-up than usual. You want moral advice, go to your friend the priest. You want me to hack into the systems and find out everything about Karen’s past that she thought she buried, sure, take me five minutes. You want to know who’s watching her and run surveillance, I can make some calls.”

“I need some time to think,” said Matt.

“You want my _opinion_ , I think you should talk to her,” said Tony. “Actually, here is my wise mentor moment: lying to the people you love never ends well. I told Pepper I wasn’t making more suits, and I was, I can’t stop myself, it’s what I do. And she left.”

“I’m sorry,” said Matt. He tipped back his head and drank the rest of the whiskey.

He felt Tony stretch out a hand and refill his glass, then the gurgle of more going into his own.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I love her, but I was getting tired of always being a disappointment, you know? She wants me to fight for her and I haven’t even tried. Yet.”

“Karen and Foggy and my friend Claire, they’re all I have,” said Matt. He swirled the glass in his hands, listening to the liquid move, and then took another large gulp. “I can’t risk losing any of them, not again. And I think – I think Karen and Foggy might get together, which would be great, of course it would be, but - ” He took another drink, to shut himself up.

“OK, this is getting maudlin,” said Tony. “Also, I need to sober up.” Matt felt the sofa move as he sat up, turning towards him. “Hey, I have a thought, how about I get the new suit and you can touch it?” He paused. “Wow, that came out sounding kinkier than I intended.”

“Really?” said Matt, startled out of self-pity into interest. “That would be – I mean, sure.”

“Great,” said Tony, standing up. He sounded pleased. “Rhodey – my friend the Colonel – he hates it when I suit up drunk, but if I’m not flying – unless you want to, of course?”

“Er, no, rather not,” said Matt. “Thanks for the offer.”

“Hang on,” said Tony. There was the sound of him moving into the kitchen, gulping water and then splashing it on his face. “Better. God, I love scotch.” Matt tracked him across the room, and then felt a rush of cold night air as he opened the windows.

“Right, I haven’t tried this in here yet, so – probably you should stay over there and if I tell you to duck – ”

“What exactly – ” said Matt.

He heard Tony make some kind of movement, and a few seconds later there was a loud whooshing noise – several noises – and something rushed past him and crashed into the breakfast bar.

“Whoa!” said Tony. “Slow down, slow it down, Jarvis, that’s it – ”

Matt leaned forward, fascinated; he realized that he was hearing the suit fastening on Tony, the near-silent clicks and whirs of metal unfolding and moving. Two more large things whizzed past his head on either side and round, and he moved fluidly away from their trajectory.

“Mind the windows – ” said Tony, just as there was a loud crack, and then he swore.

The noise stopped. Matt stood up cautiously.

“Lucky you couldn’t see that fiasco,” said Tony in Iron Man’s voice, deep and mechanic. “Here.”

The suit – Tony – stepped towards him, steps resonating through the floor. Matt stretched out a hand and hit metal.

“Chestplate,” said Tony.

Fascinated, Matt ran his hands over it, feeling the circle glowing with heat in the centre. He moved out to trace each arm. Tony curled and uncurled the massive hand into a fist as Matt ran a hand over its finger joints. He hesitated a moment, and then crouched down to feel the shape of the foot, and up the curving shapes of the leg. He couldn’t hear Tony’s heartbeat inside the suit, it was oddly disconcerting. He stood up again, and Tony obligingly bent the head down so that he could run his hands lightly over it, over that impassive face.

He stepped back, hands down.

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s – pretty amazing.”

There was a noise, which after a moment he guessed was the faceplate opening.

“Thanks,” said Tony in his own voice. “This model has a few flaws – pity you can’t see the detailing, you’d love the colour scheme I have going on.” He took a couple of steps back. “ All right, let’s disassemble.” There was a series of clangs, which Matt took to be the pieces falling to the floor. He stood still, waiting.

Tony walked over to him. “Here,” he said, and pressed the head into Matt’s hands. Matt hefted the weight of it, felt the interior, padded and warm from Tony’s body.

“I can see why some people think you’re very good at what you do,” he said.

“ _Some_ people?” said Tony. “I am a fucking genius, Murdock, you have no idea.”

Matt laughed, holding the head back to him. Tony’s hand brushed his as he took it.

“Hey,” Tony said, in a slightly different tone. “Do you know what _I_ look like? I mean, you’ve felt up the suit, do you want to, touch my face or whatever you people do?”

“You people?” said Matt. “Isn’t that discriminatory language?”

“Fucking lawyers,” said Tony. “Come on.” He set down the Iron Man head on the coffee table, took Matt’s hand, and put it on the side of his face.

Matt thought about moving away, telling Tony he remembered him from old TV footage. Tony’s cheek was smooth under his, with the start of a beard. Curious, he moved his hand cautiously round Tony’s chin, feeling the goatee, and then round to his other cheekbone. Tony’s eyelashes brushed against his hand.

“This is weird,” said Tony. “I mean, not in a bad way,” as Matt half-withdrew his hand, “in an interesting way.”

Matt brushed the back of his hand through Tony’s hair, and then ran it over his eyes, which fluttered under his touch, the bridge of his nose and then, hesitating, over his lips.

He took his hand back. Tony’s breathing was slightly elevated. Matt had done this with too many girls not to know the reason why; Tony was more than a little drunk, he reminded himself. His hand tingled.

“I used to have a mini arc reactor, in my chest,” said Tony, a few tones deeper than usual. He was standing so close that Matt could feel the warmth of his body. “Right here.” He grasped Matt’s wrist and placed his hand in the centre of his chest.

Matt bit his lip, feeling the rise and fall of Tony’s pulse. Impelled by an impulse he couldn’t have explained, he spread out his hand, curled his fingers, feeling, exploring; hard muscle, crisp hair under the T-shirt, the stub of a nipple. He reached out with his other hand and ran it down Tony’s side, over the soft, worn material of his shirt, and then abruptly froze in place as Tony took in a deeper breath. What was he doing?

He was opening his mouth to apologize and step away when Tony shifted a little.

“If you want to, ah, keep going, that would be fine with me,” he said, his voice a little rougher than usual.

Matt’s mouth was dry. It had been a long time, months, God, longer, since he’d touched someone like this, with intent. He moved his right hand downwards, and then hesitantly under the hem of Tony’s shirt, feeling soft skin, a raised scar, the dip of his stomach. He stopped at the waistband of his jeans, his nerve failing.

Tony drew in a sharp breath, leaning towards him. There was Scotch on his breath, and beneath that, a scent that Matt knew he recognized as Tony himself.

“Umm,” Tony said. “If I kiss you, you’re not going to punch me in the face, are you? Because I’m not 100% sure that I’m reading you right, and I really hate being punched in the face.”

Matt swallowed. “You’re reading me right,” he said, quietly. His cheeks were warm. He edged his fingers down, curled under the edge of the jeans.

“Good, that’s good – “ said Tony, and Matt took off his glasses, tossed them away somewhere to clatter on the floor amongst the other body parts, put a hand on Tony’s cheek to anchor himself, and then leaned forward and met his mouth. For a few beats it was awkward and strange, too unfamiliar, too male, and then Tony moved a little to change the angle, teased Matt’s mouth open, and then – women had complimented Matt on being a good kisser, more than once, he wouldn’t have said he was unskilled. But Tony, Tony kissed with the assurance of someone who had spent twice as many years as Matt perfecting just that skill, and didn’t care who knew it.

He broke off for breath, after an indeterminate amount of time. He was hard, just from kissing. Tony was, too, he thought.

“This is going to be _great_ ,” said Tony. “Jesus. Don’t take offence, but I wasn’t sure you were into guys.”

“I’m not,” said Matt. “I mean, I haven’t – ” He paused, embarrassed again, and a little stunned by the pace of events. Whatever had been in his mind when he dialed Tony’s number, he didn’t think it had been this.

“Oh?” said Tony. “Not a problem, I can totally work with that.”

Matt reached out and took his mouth again. Tony moved to press a leg in between his, and Matt pushed against it, rocking involuntarily. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted or what he was doing, but he felt desperate for whatever Tony was offering. His brain was clouded with alcohol and lust, he couldn’t remember where the nearest flat surface in the room was.

“Mmm,” said Tony. “Bedroom, quick, c’mon.” He tugged Matt after him and Matt followed, stumbling.

The bedroom turned out to be just down the corridor from the main room, luckily. Tony pulled him through a doorway and then Matt heard him close it and turn a lock.

“Bed, to your left, cabinets beside it, bathroom to your right, door in the far corner leads to the closet, said Tony. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Cameras?” said Matt.

“Not in the bedroom,” said Tony. “There’s enough sex tapes of me on the internet already.”

“Uh-huh,” said Matt.

“I’m raising an eyebrow in a suggestive way,” said Tony. “Just so you know. Come here.” He took Matt’s arms and walked him a couple of steps. Matt heard Tony’s legs hit the bed, and then Tony sat down, warm hands on Matt’s hips. He bent forward and rubbed his face on Matt’s stomach; Matt felt the prickle of beard and somehow, surprisingly, that was hot.

“Great abs,” said Tony, and pushed up Matt’s shirt, mouth warm and moving on his stomach. “Take this off.” Matt pulled his T-shirt over his head and felt the movements of Tony doing the same, then Tony’s hands were on his belt, unbuckling it. Matt drew in a sharp breath.

“Tell me if I’m doing anything you don’t like,” said Tony.

“You won’t,” said Matt, hearing his voice embarrassingly husky as Tony worked down his jeans.

“Shoes,” said Tony, and Matt left a hand on his shoulder for balance and heeled off his shoes and socks, awkwardly, and then pulled his jeans the rest of the way off, with Tony ineffectually helping. He stood up, self-conscious. He was hard, Tony could see him. He had a flash of memory from high school, some stupid bully, what had his name been, calling after him, hey, Murdock, you like to suck cock? You’re a fag, right? He’d waited for him in the alley after school and given him two black eyes; broken his collarbone, they had mostly laid off him, after that.

Well. He was old enough now to do whatever the hell he wanted. Tony’s hands running up his thighs – big hands, scarred, muscled – felt good, better than good. Tony’s mouth, breathing on him through his boxers – Matt made an inarticulate noise and gripped Tony’s shoulders, and felt the curve of Tony’s smile jolt through him.

Tony pulled away, and Matt heard himself gasping.

“These jeans are…a little uncomfortable,” said Tony, breathing hard. “Here, lie down, I’m taking the rest of my clothes off.”

Matt crawled onto the bed and lay there, hearing the rustle of Tony removing his clothes. Tony was looking at him. He swallowed nerves and pushed his shorts off, inhaling as they brushed over his cock. He let his legs fall a little apart, stretched out.

“Christ,” said Tony. “Have you any idea how hot you are?” The bed dipped, and Matt reached out to find Tony and pull him up for another kiss. Tony rested his weight on him, and that was amazing, skin and heat, solid against him; Matt pushed up, frantic.

Tony bit at his neck and shoulder, pushing back, and Matt shoved at him and then, wanting more control, got a leg between Tony’s and flipped him over, careful to sense the edges of the bed.

Tony was laughing. “Impressive,” he said, and gripped Matt’s ass to grind against him more thoroughly.

Matt closed his eyes. He was starving for it, all of it, and who knew if this was his only chance. Cocksucker, he thought, and smiled to himself. He slid out of Tony’s grip and down the bed, gracelessly, biting at Tony’s hip and then moving inwards. Tony’s hand curled in his hair, almost painfully, but not to stop him. Matt moved between his thighs, licking the soft skin there, overcome by the familiarity and strangeness of smell and taste, the textures and feel on his tongue, and then ran his fingers experimentally over Tony’s cock.

Tony’s hips were pressing up. Matt held them down with one hand, and then steadied Tony’s cock with one hand and licked at the tip, tasting. Tony groaned above him.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said.

Matt slid the head into his mouth and sucked, carefully, mapping Tony’s reactions. Tony liked it when he used his tongue, so he did that some more, and then slid down a little further, experimentally. It felt good, if odd, to be experiencing this from the other end: his own cock ached in sympathy, and he wanted to touch himself.

Tony was talking above him, or mostly just swearing softly, so Matt ignored it in favour of listening hard to Tony’s body, telling him to move faster, a little harder, just so. He didn’t need Tony’s hand in his hair, pulling to warn him, he could tell from the heat and rush of Tony’s blood, the sweat on his skin, and he pulled off and moved his hand on Tony’s cock just as Tony came all over his hand.

He lifted his hand to his mouth, to taste.

“Fuck,” said Tony. “You’re something else, you know that. Up, c’mere.” He tugged at Matt’s shoulder and Matt went, letting Tony taste himself in Matt’s mouth. His cock dragged against Tony’s skin and he groaned into Tony’s mouth. Tony reached down and slid his hand over him, expertly, setting just the right rhythm. Matt shivered and panted in his mouth, already so wound up that he couldn’t hold out, sparks flashing in the darkness of his closed eyes as he hurtled over the edge and came into Tony’s hand, stroking him through it.

He rolled off Tony’s chest and put an arm over his eyes, panting. Oh, God, he’d sucked Tony’s cock and he wanted to do it again, he wanted Tony to do it to him, he’d only just come and his body didn’t want to slow down at all. He liked men; he liked Tony’s body, he _loved_ Tony’s body, and how had he managed never to know this before?

Tony huffed a laugh beside him. “This wasn’t part of the superhero mentoring program,” he said. “Though let’s be honest, I’d have written it into a formal contract if I thought I could get away with it.”

“Umm, I didn’t exactly plan this,” said Matt.

“No kidding,” said Tony. “Jesus, what was in that Scotch.” Matt felt him stretch.

“I don’t sleep so much at the moment – ” he said

“Yeah, um, me neither – ” said Matt.

“But you should totally stay, we can progress with Gay Sex 101 in the morning. Or, you know, later in the morning.”

“Ah,” said Matt. He couldn’t say that it seemed like a _bad_ idea, exactly. Tony’s bed was extremely comfortable, and all his muscles were relaxed for what felt like the first time in days. There were a few moments of silence. His eyes were sliding shut.

“You young things need your beauty sleep,” said Tony, sounding amused, pushing himself up to the edge of the bed and padding away somewhere, and Matt was about to disagree, sit up and start searching for his clothes, but his eyes were heavy and from one breath to the next he was asleep.

Matt woke up, deliciously warm, with sunlight streaming across him, and with no idea where he was. Definitely not in his apartment, where sunlight almost never penetrated. He blinked a few times, tasting whiskey and something else, hearing regular breathing from beside him, and then the night came back to him in a rush. He stretched a hand sideways, and met Tony’s side. Shit. He was in bed with Tony Stark. That was – clearly it was a problem in some way, but he was too sleep-drunk to figure out exactly how.

He got out of bed carefully, faltered a moment, and then made his way uncertainly round the room to the bathroom. He found a tube of toothpaste and rubbed a bit round his mouth, splashed his face. Last night – he noted that his heart was beating faster than usual – that had been….

Tony did this all the time, he thought. He’d said to stay, but if he wanted Matt to leave, if he thought this had been a terrible mistake, he would hardly be shy about saying so.

“Hey,” said Tony sleepily. “Stop brooding. Come back to bed.”

Matt felt his way out, nearly knocking into the doorframe, and did as he’d been told. Tony reached out and dragged him closer and kissed him, thoroughly.

“Ugh, I need to brush my teeth,” he said. “Stay there, that’s an order.” He padded into the bathroom, and Matt listened, mind blissfully empty and body full of anticipation, to the sounds of water running. Tony came back into the bedroom, still brushing.

“Nasty bruise,” he said through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Oh,” said Matt. He ran his fingers over it. It didn’t seem too bad to him. A cold, unpleasant tendril of memory intruded into his sense of wellbeing.

“Wait, what day is it?” he said.

“Wednesday,” said Tony, emerging again from the bathroom. “Around ten. Jarvis! Call Nelson and Murdock and tell them that there’s been a development and Matt and I are in a meeting at the Tower. And cancel whatever I’m meant to be doing today.”

“Very good, sir,” said Jarvis.

“Wait, he can hear us?” said Matt.

“I filter for relevance,” said Jarvis, primly.

“Don’t listen, Jarvis, that’s an order,” said Tony. “So, here’s how this is going to go.” He sat down on the bed and slid a hand down Matt’s chest, possessively. “You’ve brought out my competitive streak, what with being gay for five minutes and already giving great head, when I’ve been – well, let’s just say I was fifteen when I gave my first blowjob and I haven’t lacked for practice. So you’re going to lie back and take it like a man, then coffee and showers, then back to bed for a practical demonstration of the pleasures of sodomy. Then I’m thinking Thai for lunch. What do you say?” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over one of Matt’s nipples and Matt breathed out in a huff.

“Unless you’re having a sexuality-and-Catholic-guilt crisis,” said Tony. “Though I’m pretty sure I can…talk you out of it.”

“Thai sounds great,” said Matt, and pulled him down.


	3. Chapter 3

One-night stand, thought Matt. He thought it when he got back to his apartment on Wednesday night, his whole body still humming with remembered pleasure, and faceplanted into his bed and slept for twelve hours straight. He thought it all through Thursday – “You’re looking good!” Karen said when he made it into the office, with a slightly unflattering note of surprise, and Matt tugged self-consciously at his shirt collar, hoping that the marks he knew were there were hidden – and all through Friday, and right up to the point he made it home after work and found Tony in his apartment.

He closed the door behind him and couldn’t help smiling at it.

“You know I’m here, right?” said Tony.

“Yeah,” said Matt. “You’re drinking my beer. Also, you broke into my apartment.” He set down his briefcase and hung his coat up, then made his way downstairs.

“Mmm-hmm,” said Tony. “A child could break into this apartment. Nice décor. Love the post-industrial gloom, very on-trend.” He set down the beer and stood up. Matt waited at the bottom of the stairs.

“This is a booty call, by the way,” said Tony. He reached out and took off Matt’s glasses, setting them on the stairs.

Matt let a grin spread across his face. “Fine by me,” he said, and gripped Tony by the waist to pull him in.

And then Tony was still there in the morning, and by the time Matt woke up after round three and gathered himself together, Tony had called Foggy and Karen and they were all meeting for eggs and pancakes two blocks over.

Matt had never been so thankful for his glasses. Tony was sitting next to him in the booth, his thigh pressed up against Matt’s. Foggy and Tony were having a lively debate about fried versus poached eggs, and all Matt could think about was that only a couple of hours earlier, Tony had spread him out on the bed and licked his – he felt his face heating up at the memory, and a renewed flush of desire – licked his asshole, which wasn’t something that he had ever for a moment thought about, except that now he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to _stop_ thinking about it.

He hadn’t heard himself make those sounds before, hadn’t known he could; desperate and needy, wiped clean of everything but the desire for more. Christ, he’d been practically begging for it, and if Tony had fucked him he would have been one hundred per cent on board, even though he’d been thinking anxiously about this scenario ever since Tony had let him –

Tony put a hand on his thigh under the table, without pausing in the discussion, and Matt jumped, biting his lip. He couldn’t believe Foggy and Karen hadn’t noticed anything.

“Do I need to ask what you’ve been thinking about?” said Tony, low in his ear, as Karen got up to go to the bathroom and Foggy went to get the check.

“Bending you over this table,” said Matt, equally low, and got a little of his own back at the hiss that Tony made.

“Your place or mine?” said Tony, and then Foggy was coming back and it was finally, finally time to get out of the god-damned diner.

So that was the weekend. Sunday passed, Monday, and then on Monday night Matt was out patrolling, everything quiet, thought he’d spread his patrol a bit wider than usual, and next thing he was outside the back alley side entrance of Stark Tower. He’d never come here alone: usually one of Tony’s cars and drivers picked him up and they went in through the basement garage, he wouldn’t have said that he consciously knew this entrance existed.

He felt round the edge of the door and found a keypad. Then he dropped his hand and rubbed at his chin, frustrated. What was he doing? He was supposed to be _fighting evil_. And why would he imagine Tony would even be there, rather than out at some gala or dinner or other event in the world that Matt despised?

“If you want to come in, Mr Murdock, the plate below the keypad will take your thumbprint,” said Jarvis, tinnily. “Mr Stark asks me to enquire if you intend to loiter out there all night.”

Matt sighed. He knew perfectly well what he was doing; he was thinking with his dick, like he had been all week. He took off a glove, pressed his thumb to the pad and the lock clicked open.

Tony was waiting in the penthouse.

“I should get you to wear the costume more often,” he said, appreciatively. “Do you want me to tell you when I’m ogling you? Or, wait, is this a social call, or Daredevil business?”

“Social call,” said Matt. He wet his lips.

“I’m still all alone in the Tower,” said Tony. “So how about we break in the sofa?” and Matt took five strides to get there, and then was unbuckling Tony’s belt and trying to get to skin before he even realized he still had his mask on.

Afterwards, Matt collapsed on Tony’s chest and Tony petted his hair, absently.

“I don’t let things go,” said Tony. “I meddle, I get curious – Apparently it’s a major character flaw.” He sighed. “Anyway, Karen shot a guy when she was nineteen and at college; he jumped her in a park, there was a struggle, she got the gun, and she shot him in the kidneys. He lived. He was the son of – a prominent local businessman. No charges brought. She dropped out and moved to New York six months later. Wesley, that one I can’t prove, and if I can’t, _they_ can’t. My instinct says she did it.”

“Oh,” said Matt. He considered this.

“Are you mad?” said Tony.

“No,” said Matt. “Thanks. I guess. I’ll talk to her. I’ve been a little…distracted.”

“Tell me about it,” said Tony, and that was about it for conversation.

On Tuesday Matt dropped in for a latte with Father Lantom.

“Come out with it, whatever it is,” he said, as Matt fiddled with his mug.

“I was wondering – about the Church’s attitude towards homosexuality,” said Matt, abruptly. Then he blushed.

“Well,” said Father Lantom. Matt could hear the clink of him stirring his coffee. “I’ll assume this sudden interest has a…personal bent. All I’ll say is, if you’re here asking me about the ethics of homosexuality rather than the ethics of murder, then I’d say that’s a positive trend, wouldn’t you?”

Matt cleared his throat. Even his ears felt red.

“Looks to me like he’s good for you,” said Father Lantom, and patted him on the shoulder.

Wednesday, Matt knew that Foggy’s favourite cousin was in town, so he asked Karen out for a drink after work. He wasn’t sure how to broach the topic, so in the end he went for the brutal and direct approach and asked her point-blank about Wesley.

Turned out, she’d been waiting to be asked. The whole story came out, in a furious whisper, how he’d kidnapped and threatened her, she hadn’t had a choice, but she hadn’t wanted to drag him and Foggy into it, she’d been terrified…

Matt held her hand and passed her a napkin to wipe her eyes, and told her that she’d done the right thing and Wesley was a cold-hearted killer, and no, he was pretty sure there couldn’t be any forensic evidence against her, and then he lied through his teeth and told her that he was also pretty sure that Fisk had no idea, and it was going to stay that way.

Karen hugged him fiercely outside the bar. “Thank you,” she said, blowing her nose. “I know it’s selfish to feel this way, but it’s such a relief that you know. God, I’ve wanted to tell you so much.”

“You know I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe,” said Matt, meaning it with all his heart.

On Thursday, he stayed at work late, after the others gave up, and Tony showed up there with pizza, which got cold while he gave Matt an excruciatingly slow blowjob in his office chair, and then Matt pushed him down onto the scratchy cheap carpet and returned the favour, and he was going to have to throw out all his office furniture as well as most of the furniture in his apartment, because he was never going to be able to lay a hand on it again without getting inappropriately turned on.

**

That was the first week, and after another two much the same, Karen went out of town for the weekend for the wedding of an old high-school friend, and Matt took Foggy out to Josie’s.

“You asked me to always be truthful with you, after – ” he said, once he figured Foggy had had just enough drink to be more amenable.

“Yeah,” said Foggy, warily. “What have you done?”

Matt grimaced. “I’m kind of – sleeping with Tony Stark.”

He heard Foggy choke on his mouthful of drink. “You’re doing _what_?” he said. “You’re fucking _Stark_?But you’re straight! Like, you are totally straight – oh my God have you been gay _all along_ and this is another thing you haven’t told me – shit, that would explain _so much_ – ”

“Calm down and stop yelling at the entire bar,” said Matt. “No, I’m not gay, I’ve never – I never wanted to do it with a guy before. But I guess I’m not totally straight.”

“You _think_?” said Foggy. “Man, I’m going to need the rest of this bottle. You and Stark, Jesus Christ, you’re macking on Iron Man. There’s not enough alcohol in the _world_ for this conversation.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” said Matt. “It’s just sex.”

“With a superhero!” said Foggy. “OK, OK, I’m taking some deep breaths here.” He poured another shot for himself, and then one for Matt. “I’m your friend,” he said. “So if you want to…talk about your freaky gay sex relationship with the biggest player in town then I am here for you. For, you know, manly advice. Unless you want to talk about the gay sex in which case sorry, bro, but I really, really do not want to know.”

Matt found himself smiling. He raised an eyebrow. “Sure?” he said. “Because it’s _really_ good sex.”

“Aagh!” said Foggy. “No, no – oh God, now I’m picturing it, I can’t stop myself.”

“You have no idea what you’re missing,” said Matt, grinning.

“Josie!” shouted Foggy down the bar. “Bring another bottle! Jesus, did you tell Karen? She’ll _freak out_.”

“Ah, no,” said Matt. “Look, this is a casual thing. I don’t want to make it into a big deal. It’s not – it’s not long-term.”

“So pretty much like every other relationship you’ve ever had, then,” said Foggy. “Except with more dicks involved.”

“I…guess,” said Matt.

“Oh God, don’t break his heart or anything, “said Foggy. “Because Stark has some serious weaponry. I do not want to be picking you up in bits, like, literal bits, because you made him mad.”

“Not going to happen,” said Matt.

“Yeah?” said Foggy. “Because I remember that Spanish girl, and the woman from the dean’s office, and that hot British girl in our class – Amy? Amanda? – you made them _crazy_ , like, stalker crazy.”

“It’s not like that,” said Matt. He turned the glass in his hand. “It’s only been going on a couple of weeks. Talk about making people crazy, you’ve seen the cases we’re working on for him. You know what Tony’s like. He doesn’t have anything else going on right now, but he will do, and then he’ll get bored, and then – ”

“Oh, boy,” said Foggy. “This is so much worse than I thought. _This_ is why you’ve been all, all cheerful lately, and he’s going to dump you to go save the world again or whatever, and you’ll be miserable because you’ve totally fallen for him, and I am going to say I told you so. Except that I didn’t tell you not to go fall in love with Tony fucking Stark, because I had no idea it was even in the realms of possibility, but I _would’ve_ , if I’d thought you were going to do something this stupid.”

“Hey, I’m not – ” said Matt, and then shut up fast because Josie was setting down the next bottle.

“Can you see this?” said Foggy. “This is my face of disbelief. Man, you are so screwed.”

“Thanks, buddy,” said Matt. “You’re really helping. Also, you’re wrong.”

“Still making the face,” said Foggy, shaking his head.

“Can we talk about something else?” said Matt, despairingly, and took another shot.

**

Two days after that, he got kidnapped. He was in his apartment, half-listening for problems on the street, and having an internal debate about whether he was going round to Tony’s right away or going on patrol first and _then_ going round to Tony’s. Tony really seemed to like it when he showed up in costume, which was a little kinky perhaps but had its benefits.

His cellphone rang.

“Mr Murdock,” said a woman’s voice, slight foreign accent, vaguely familiar. “Or should I address you as the Daredevil? We have Miss Page. Come to the old fruit warehouse by the docks, thirty minutes, or we’ll deliver her to you in pieces. And don’t even think about the police, or we’ll start on her right now.”

She hung up before Matt could respond. He called Karen. The phone rang and rang, and then rang off. He didn’t know where exactly she’d said she was going, hadn’t been paying attention. He could ring Foggy and ask, if he had an explanation for why he needed to speak to Karen at midnight. He held the phone for a moment then set it down, gently, resisting the urge to hurl it across the room. This was bad. There wasn’t time, he’d have to run across town to make the deadline – he couldn’t –

He stood for a couple of seconds, indecisive, and then went to get into character.

If Matt had been less full of ice-cold fury and barely suppressed panic, and less busy fighting, he would have contemplated how much he hated abandoned warehouses and the cadre of criminals who used them. The echoes were offputting, there were piles of lethal stuff in every corner, and he was tired of ending up in the water. He’d knocked out two, three men with the advantage of surprise and skill, but there were too many here. And they weren’t fighting one on one or even two or three on one, they had rushed him as a body and were trying to hold him still so that others could hit him. He shook one off, and another replaced him. Someone pinioned his right arm, and then an iron bar smashed into his leg and it went out from under him. He tried to struggle up, but as he did, he felt the whistle of a blow coming towards his head, and then nothing.

He woke up in a small, cold room smelling of the river, cheek pressed to a rough concrete floor. His mask was gone. He listened: a couple of men outside, others within shouting range. No sound that might be Karen’s heartbeat, which was at least marginally reassuring.

He checked himself over slowly and painfully. It wasn’t good. His left leg was broken, perhaps badly so. There was a bloody contusion on the back of his head, and various cuts and bruises elsewhere. He was having trouble focusing his thoughts, so concussion too. He gritted his teeth and crawled round the room, hoping for a splint; they’d left him a bottle of water and a bucket in one corner, so they probably weren’t expecting him to die in here, but otherwise there was nothing, only dust under his fingernails.

He tried to meditate, but the pain was too insistent. He thought about Tony, for a bit. He tried not to think about what might be happening to Foggy and Karen. And after a while that might have been minutes or hours, he drifted back into the peaceful darkness, with relief.

**

“Mr Nelson on the work line for you, sir,” said Jarvis.

“Tell him I’ll call him later,” said Tony. He frowned at the components in front of him, and tweaked one a millimeter to the left.

“He says it’s urgent,” Jarvis reported, “Concerning Mr Murdock.”

Tony looked up. “Put him on speaker.”

“Tony? Umm, Mr Stark?” said Foggy, sounding breathless and panicked. “Matt isn’t with you, is he?”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “No,” he said. “Why?” He put down the tool he was holding, and took off his safety glasses and gloves.

“Oh shit, oh _shit_ ,” said Foggy. “Matt didn’t come into work today, so I assumed he was, you know, and this afternoon some guy dropped off a package and it’s, it’s…”

“Breathe,” said Tony. He remembered this feeling of total helplessness to avert what was coming, remembered it vividly from watching Pepper strapped to a gurney, knowing he was too late.

“It’s the Daredevil mask,” said Foggy. “It’s all – sliced up.”

“I’m sending a car,” said Tony, already calling up screens, maps of New York, visual of Matt’s apartment. “Get in it, and get Karen in it too. Jarvis!”

“She’s in Pennsylvania till Tuesday,” said Foggy, swallowing. “Oh shit, I should ring and check, what’ll I tell her….” His voice wavered. “Do you think he’s still alive?”

“Hang up, get out of the building and get in the car,” said Tony. “Jarvis, get me Natasha on the line right now. Make sure the Mark 46 is ready to go, I want it fully charged and operational, and I want Matt Murdock’s cellphone data and last known movements in front of me, stat.”

He braced himself on the table for a moment, taking a couple of breaths. This was going to be amateur league, this was not an alien invasion or even a lunatic scientist with a grudge against the whole world, this was petty local criminals and unprofessionalism and Tony could deal with it with one hand tied behind his back, assuming Matt hadn’t rescued himself by now.

He was going to make whoever was behind this wish they had never been born.


	4. Chapter 4

Matt came to tied to a chair, so no points for originality. He would have been able to get out of it under normal circumstances, especially since Natasha had made do him an entire session on this topic, but his leg was – not good. The rest of him wasn’t great either. If he tried any clever moves backwards or forwards and then ended up lying on the floor in agony, it wasn’t going to be helpful.

He squared his shoulders as much as he could. There were eight, nine – maybe ten people in the building, though outside the door rather than in the room itself. A woman was standing in front of him. He frowned and tried to concentrate; her perfume and shampoo were familiar, associated with privilege, urbanity, danger…

“Vanessa,” he said.

“Mr Murdock,” she said, with contempt. “The blind man looking at art; how very childish.”

“You found me,” he said, with difficulty. Speaking hurt. “Very…smart.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Flattery,” she said. “Though yes, I am _smart_. Did you think that a man like my Wilson would be content with anything less? Did you imagine, you and your lawyers and your little police friends, that I was sobbing my heart out in exile? Or did you think that _perhaps_ I would spend my time hunting down the man who took him from me?”

She stepped closer and hit him, backhanded, slicing open a cut on his face with what must have been a scarily large diamond.

“I have my own connections,” she said, Italian accent marginally thicker. “And everywhere I looked, you and your associates kept turning up, like a bad penny. A blind lawyer in my gallery asking the wrong questions. A lawyer who, when he was young, had a friend in an older man, a blind man with a certain reputation among our former Japanese associates. I found a nun who remembered you with great fondness, Mr Murdock, you and the man she paid to help you. One would think someone like you might have imitated his example: to stay in your neighbourhood, where _so many_ people remember the story of little Matt Murdock, to act as its gallant defender by day _and_ by night– it takes a certain kind of… arrogance. It’s hard to believe, that someone like you could cause all this trouble to us. You are _nothing_ compared to Wilson.”

“You don’t have Karen,” said Matt. Even through the insistent pain, he felt a rush of relief. It seemed likely he was going to die here, which was not undeserved given how stupid he’d been, but at least Foggy and Karen would have a chance. He was sorry not to have said goodbye to Tony, sorry he’d let him and Natasha down too, but Tony knew the risks, he would understand.

“Your friends will be here any minute,” said Vanessa. “I look forward to watching them die. Do you think your Karen will confess how she murdered my – our – friend, before I kill her?”

“Vanessa,” said Matt. “You’re…too good for him. You could be – “ he stopped and tried to breathe, “something better than this.”

Vanessa kicked his bad leg, hard, and he tried to double over, heard himself make a choked-off scream. He fought not to lose consciousness again, tasting blood.

She moved back again, steps precise. Matt struggled to focus. One woman, surely there was a way he could disable her. He would think about the ten others outside when it came to that. He moved his wrists behind him, testing the knots.

“Do you know what time it is?” Vanessa said. “One minute to six. At six, Wilson will call me, and I can give him the gift I’ve been saving for him. He’s a very creative man, I thought I would let him decide what I should do with you.” 

Matt closed his eyes. He was going to have see if he could stand, any kind of fancy moves were out but perhaps he could swing the chair – it wasn’t going to be pretty –

Vanessa’s phone rang. She lifted it to her ear: Matt braced himself, one, two –

There was an extremely loud crash and thud, a hail of dust and fragments fell on Matt – ceiling had fallen in – Vanessa shouted something and there were racing feet and voices responding, the phone cut out as something crunched on the screen, and a giant metal hand rested on Matt’s head for a second and then swung away.

“Oh, thank God,” said Matt, and passed out again.

**

He woke up in Tony’s bed, surrounded by the familiar scent of Tony’s always-freshly- laundered sheets, and unfamiliar hospital scents. His left leg was elevated, and from the weight, encased in plaster, and he was hooked up to various machines. Assorted parts of him ached, dimly.

There was someone beside the bed: he focused and placed her as Claire. Unexpected. He swallowed, suddenly thirsty.

“You’re awake,” she said. “Try not to move too much. Here, water.”

She placed a straw between his lips gently and he drank.

“Foggy, Karen – “ Matt said, remembering.

“Just down the hall.”

“How did you – get here – “

“Beats me,” said Claire. “Got a call, saying you needed my help. Wasn’t exactly expecting to end up _here_.” He heard her shift. “Least you got people who can access the stuff you needed; you’d have been in my ER, otherwise, and let me tell you that’s a whole lot less comfortable than what you’ve got going on here.”

“Mmm,” said Matt. “How long have I been out?”

“Nearly 24 hours. We had a lot of work to do on your leg, and you’ve got some broken ribs, cuts and bruises, the usual. The leg’ll be OK, but you got a nasty break there.”

There was a pause.

“You and…Tony Stark, huh,” said Claire. She had that hesitation he’d noted people often got in their voice when they said Tony’s name, like they didn’t quite believe he was a real person.

Matt didn’t say anything, but she must have read something in his face.

“Don’t worry, you haven’t been talking in your sleep, and I’m not going to tell,” she said. “Just saw the way he was looking when I arrived. Can’t say I saw that one coming.”

“Yeah,” said Matt, a little hoarsely, He tried to smile. “Me neither.”

Claire set her hand on his, and he turned his hand over and gripped it, then let go.

 “Well,” she said. “I’ve got to get back to my real job. Some of these we’re done with.” She moved around Matt with efficiency, taking out lines, taking off monitors, pushing equipment off to the side, by the sound of it, and clearing up.

“I’ll be back after my shift ends,” she said, coming back. “I’m gonna go tell your friends you’re conscious, but you’re not to talk for too long. You were pretty beat up. You’re going to be out of the game for a while, hero, while that leg mends.”

“I know,” said Matt. He turned his head, blinking against the dazzle, towards where she was. “Thanks, Claire.”

“No trouble,” she said. He heard her stand up, smooth down her shirt and huff out a laugh. “Though it’s a shame I can’t tell my girlfriends I’ve been in Stark’s penthouse. That one would be worth a few rounds at the bar.”

“I’ll buy you a round,” he promised.

“Hold you to that,” she said. “Take care.” Her lips brushed his forehead, and he heard her opening the door and striding away.

He closed his eyes, wondering if Tony were in the building. If he concentrated, he could hear fragments of two conversations; Claire and a murmur of voices that might be Foggy and Karen, and in the opposite direction, a louder, more urgent but more distant conversation with a thread that sounded like Tony. He focused hard on it.

“…and if I want to take her over the Atlantic and drop her in it, you can’t stop me –”

Another voice – Natasha – said something indistinct but with Matt’s name in it.

“And who’s going to tell him?” said Tony.

“…take _care_ of it,” said Natasha.

“Oh, _will_ you,” said Tony, almost a snarl, and Matt frowned, because that wasn’t the way Tony usually sounded and the conversation had maybe been about him.

The door opened and he turned his head, trying to smile properly at Foggy and Karen.

“Hi!” said Karen, artificially bright. “You’re awake! You look…much better.”

“I’m sorry,” said Matt. “That – it was Vanessa, Fisk’s fiancée, she knows about – you know. It was all my fault, she was after you – the people working for her, they must know too. God, I thought she might – “

“Umm, when Claire said we should keep you calm I think she meant we shouldn’t talk about this right now,” said Foggy. “What with you recovering from life-threatening injuries and all. But since you’re going to beat yourself up about it, I’m going to point out that, A, we kind of gathered from the conversations round here that Vanessa and her people might be pretty unmotivated about a life of crime after Iron Man and most of the building fell on them; and B, you were _rescued by the Avengers_. Like, you think people are going to threaten your secret identity _now_? The Black Widow is out there!”

“My… umm,” said Matt.

“It’s fine!” said Karen. “I already knew, anyway. About the whole Daredevil thing. Totally obvious to anyone who knows you.” There was a pause. “OK, Foggy told me.”

“Great, thanks,” said Foggy. “Yes, alright, I told her. It was too great a burden to carry alone. I let it slip in a moment of… emotional weakness.”

“It’s OK,” said Matt. He sighed. “I wanted you to know, but I didn’t think it was safe. Vanessa, those guys, you _weren’t_ safe. I was an idiot.”

“It’s all fine!” said Karen in the same fake-bright voice. Matt frowned. If she wasn’t upset about the Daredevil, then what – Oh.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about me and Tony,” he said. He felt a pang of doubt: sure, Tony had just rescued him from the near-certainty of an unpleasant death, but was there a me-and-Tony? He might be in Tony’s bedroom, but presumably the Tower had been the most convenient place to take him. And it didn’t seem as though he was likely to be having much sex any time soon, nor did it seem like Tony was the kind of person who liked to hang out with invalids.

“Yes, well,” said Karen, sounding more like herself. “Apology accepted, I guess. A Stark Industries helicopter landed at my friend’s wedding dinner and four guys got out of it and basically grabbed me. During the speeches. I kind of worked out something weird was going on.”

“I told her,” said Foggy. “I confess it. Not till we were here waiting for the rescue mission, though. She thought it was industrial espionage or whatever, she had no idea it was about your…”

“I’m really glad I can’t see what gesture you’re making,” said Matt.

**

Foggy and Karen stayed for a while, chatting. Every now and then there would be a slightly awkward pause, which Matt interpreted as them realizing all over again that they were in Tony Stark’s bedroom. Foggy helped him to make a painful and exhausting trip to the bathroom, and Matt could feel him not commenting on it: he had the impression that Tony’s shower and so on were very fancy, though he didn’t have a measure to judge them by.

It was such a relief, to have him and Karen there, normal, unharmed, that Matt let all his lingering concerns slide and relaxed, listening.

At some point he faded imperceptibly into sleep again, and when he woke up, he knew Tony was in the room instead, sitting on the clear side of the bed and typing on a laptop. Matt lay for a while, trying and failing to formulate something intelligent to say.

“Tony?” he said after a while. The typing stopped. “What happened to Vanessa?”

Tony made an annoyed noise. “Natasha’s taking care of it,” he said. “She’s alive, if that’s what you meant. I don’t think she’ll bother you again.”

“I’m sorry,” said Matt.

“Uh-huh,” said Tony. “What for, exactly?”

“Being – ” Matt swallowed, thickly: Tony didn’t sound happy. “Being stupid.”

“Yes,” said Tony. “Yes, if you rush off like a white knight to save a friend in distress when said friend is eating salmon mousse in another state, and you haven’t even bothered to check, that would fall into the category of ‘stupid.’ And if you decide to throw yourself into a _giant glaring trap_ without giving the intel or details to someone manifestly more qualified than you to find out what’s going on, some people might see that as less stupidity and more, oh, I don’t know, a _death wish_.”

Mat swallowed a couple more times. He was suddenly on the verge of tears, which was pitiful and embarrassing.

“I didn’t think – “ he said.

“We’ve shared bodily fluids,” said Tony. “Repeatedly. You didn’t think what? That I might give a shit about someone torturing and killing you? ‘Oh, hey, let’s not bother Tony, he’s probably busy, I’m sure my partner will call him and let him know that I’ve been kidnapped by a homicidal maniac and my identity is compromised.’” 

Matt heard him stand up, and snap his laptop shut.

“You know what?” he said. “The last twenty-four hours have really sucked. My boyfriend nearly got killed by one of my exes and it wasn’t even about me; Fury shouted at me, Natasha shouted at me; people I can’t talk about because they don’t officially exist shouted at me; I wasn’t allowed to murder several individuals who richly deserve it; and there are about fifty news crews out there speculating about whether I was drunk, high or having anger management issues when I randomly blew up an innocent warehouse last night. I’ve had an extremely bad day, and I don’t think I should do this right now.”

He paused by the door. Matt tried and failed to come up with an adequate response.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he said.

“Get some rest,” said Tony. ‘You look like shit.” And then he left.

Matt closed his eyes, and didn’t try to stop some self-pitying tears oozing out. God, this was a disaster. He had fucked everything up. What _had_ he been thinking? And what did Tony mean, “boyfriend”?

Some agonizingly long time later, Foggy and Karen came in with pizza, which he couldn’t eat; and then Claire showed up and shooed them out while she checked him over, and said she thought he could go home the next day if he promised to stay in bed and get help in during her working hours.

Tony didn’t come back that night.

The following day, Claire, Foggy and Karen helped him into the lift and down to a waiting taxi. Matt concentrated as hard as he could while they were in the building, but he couldn’t hear Tony anywhere. He was too proud to ask. He let them help them into his apartment, fetching him groceries, commenting on the state of his laundry, and bickering about a rota for looking after him.

And after they’d gone with lots of threats about what would happen if he tried to get farther than the toilet without them, he lay on his bed and contemplated the miserable facts that he could still barely smell Tony in his bedroom, that Foggy had been thoroughly right, and that he was completely screwed.

**

A week passed, and Matt graduated from being able to move from bed to bathroom, to walking, slowly, with a pair of crutches. He made it into the office, where Karen hovered round him in such a solicitous way that it was painfully obvious that she and Foggy had been having long talks about Matt’s fragile state after being dumped by his billionaire lover.

Matt had heard nothing from Tony. Thirty times a day he held his phone and thought of calling, and then decided against it. What would he do, apologize even more? Tony had made it pretty clear that he was furious, and the problem was, he was right; Matt had no defence to offer. Tony could have anyone he wanted in the whole city, probably the whole world; probably _other_ worlds. If he’d come to his senses about what a terrible prospect Matt was for a – for anything, really, that was hardly unexpected.

In the endless boring evenings, trying not to hear the screams and sirens he couldn’t help with, he found himself checking out gossip websites, celebrity news, trying to hear where Tony was, what he was doing. But after the interest in the warehouse collapse died down, no-one seemed to be talking about him.

“Do you want to go out for a beer?” Foggy asked him.

“I’m still on medication,” said Matt. “Thanks, but I think I’ll have an early night.”

“By ‘go out for a beer’, I meant, maybe you should get drunk and cry on my shoulder about whatever’s going on with you and Tony, because you haven’t cracked a smile in about a week and it’s getting kind of scary.”

“Nothing’s going on with me and Tony,” said Matt. “It was a casual thing, it’s over, end of story.”

“Yeah,” said Foggy. “By which I mean, no: you’re a train wreck, Murdock, and it’s my duty as your best friend to do something about it.”

“Perhaps I just need to be left alone for a bit,” said Matt. He turned his attention pointedly back to the document he was reading.

“You know we have those meetings about settling two of Tony’s cases coming up next week?” said Foggy. “You want me to try to postpone them?

“No!” said Matt. “No, I want – I want to do my job.”

“You could go out for a drink with Karen instead,” said Foggy. “She’s probably better at this shit than I am anyway.”

“Look, leave it,” said Matt. “I’m – I’m stressed about my leg, OK? I’m worried that…I won’t be as sharp, when it heals.” This was true, to some degree. “It’s nothing to do with Tony,” he added, which was considerably less true.

“Fine,” said Foggy. “There are times when I can tell you’re lying too, though. When you’re ready for the post break-up bonding, let me know.” He patted Matt’s shoulder, clumsily.

Matt ran his finger over a line of text without taking any of it in, and then lifted his head; Foggy had paused in the doorway.

“You know,” said Foggy, “those times when we went out somewhere with Tony, everyone was looking at him, like everyone in the entire place; taking photos on their phone, sending tweets...People stop on the _street_ to look at him. I don’t know if you pick up on that. I mean, most of them don’t think it’s really him, but…”

“What’s your point?” said Matt.

“It never seemed like he noticed,” said Foggy. “He was looking at you. I mean, I didn’t understand _why_ at the time. I guess…” He sighed. “Maybe he’s so used to it he doesn’t notice. None of my business, I know, but I’d have said he was really into you.”

Matt clenched his fist, under the table. “Well, apparently not,” he said, clipped.

Foggy hovered a bit more, as though there was something else that Matt should be doing, and then finally left. Matt tried to get back to his papers, but he couldn’t concentrate. One of the worst things about recovering from serious injury was that he couldn’t _hit_ anything; the need to go to the gym, to go out on the streets, was a constant ache.

He picked up his phone and – listening hard to make sure Foggy and Karen were busy elsewhere – did what he’d promised himself not to do, and called Natasha.

Before he had time to change his mind and hang up, she answered.

“This is about Tony,” she said. She was somewhere very noisy: Matt could hear the whirr and clang of machinery.

“I – ” said Matt, but before he could formulate whatever lame thing he’d been about to say, she cut in.

“He’s scared of losing people. Hang on – “ There was a series of bangs, or shots, and the sound of Natasha swearing in Russian. “Got to go, I’m at work,” she said. “That stunt Tony pulled in New York caused some issues. If you want this, and God knows why you would, wait it out.” There was an even louder screeching noise – Matt winced – and the call cut out.

Matt weighed his phone in his hand. He presumed she could take care of herself, whatever she was doing. Wait it out? Well, he guessed he was already doing that, though not exactly on purpose.

Plus, it sucked.

**

Another week passed, still no word, and then all of a sudden it was the morning of the day when they had a scheduled downtown meeting to fight about one of Tony’s harassment cases. Foggy was nervous, because the client had somehow retained one of the city’s top firms, and he had been going over and over their arguments until even Matt, whose attention was 90% on seeing Tony again, knew them by heart.

That morning, Matt found himself running a critical hand through his wardrobe. If he wore his best suit, or the one that Karen had assured him he looked best in, he’d have to cut the trouser leg to wear over his cast. Otherwise, he would have to wear one of the two cheap suits he’d been wearing since he was injured. He hesitated, fingering the material. Probably it was best if he dressed up for the meeting in any case, he told himself; Nelson and Murdock needed to look sharp. He took it off the rack, dressed with as much care as he could while negotiating crutches and his leg, and shaved extra carefully. He noted with annoyance that his hand was trembling slightly.

Foggy kept trying to talk about the case in the taxi, and on their way through the glass doors, and in the elevator, undeterred by Matt responding in monosyllables. But just outside the meeting room he took Matt’s arm.

“You OK to do this?” he said, quietly. “The receptionist said Tony’s already here.”

Matt had heard her. He was listening to all the heartbeats in the room, trying to work out where Tony was sitting.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m fine.”

Foggy sighed. “I think you should let me do the talking,” he said. “You look good, by the way. You want me to, umm, whisper to you about what Tony’s doing?”

“Let’s…be professional,” Matt said.

“You got it,” said Foggy. “Nelson and Murdock, champions of – well, right at this moment, champions of taking money from the very, very rich so that we can help out our other clients.”

Matt nodded, and tried to smile, and Foggy opened the door for him to make his ungraceful way in.

It was a good thing that Foggy had prepared so thoroughly, because every facet of the case, and every legal argument Matt had ever known, deserted him as he sat down. Foggy had prudently seated himself in the middle, Matt and Tony on either side, but Matt was still desperately conscious of Tony’s cologne, his shampoo, the whisper of his fine clothes as he crossed his legs, the tiny sound of him fiddling with a paperclip, over and over again. He swallowed, took a sip of water, and by the time he could focus the argument was well under way and he had no idea what had been said.

Tony wasn’t saying anything either, though to be fair, after the last case they’d both sat him down and refused to represent him if he ever spoke again in a formal meeting.

Matt frowned slightly and tried to nod at appropriate moments, as though he were backing up Foggy’s points. As his brain cleared, he recalled that this was the case of the Stark Industries intern who claimed Tony had told her she should sleep with him to get promotion. He directed his frown towards her.

After what seemed like several hours, but was probably less than one of Foggy giving it his best, there was a significant pause while the other lawyers in the room shuffled papers and whispered.

“What do you think?” hissed Foggy to Matt.

“You were brilliant,” Matt whispered back, with perfect sincerity.

“Tony?” said Foggy, turning to his other side. Matt closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally.

Tony coughed. “Great work,” he said.

Suddenly, the whole situation seemed too much.

“Can we ask for a break?” Matt said, quietly. “I mean, I think you have them on the run, let’s give them a chance to make us an offer.”

“Why would – " said Foggy. Matt kicked him under the table with his good leg. “Oh!” he said. “Excellent plan, let’s do that.”

Matt entirely tuned out of the following discussion, until he heard Foggy announcing that they’d adjourn for forty-five minutes. He grabbed his crutches, pushed back his chair and stood up almost before he’d finished speaking, desperate to get out of the room before his face betrayed any of his thoughts. Foggy was making an excuse for him, something about his leg, and then pausing to gather up his papers. Tony was pushing back his chair. Matt made it to the door, conscious of all the other lawyers staying politely out of the way of the blind cripple, managed to get it open and himself on the other side without falling over, hit the button for the lifts and stepped in just as Foggy came out of the door.

“Matt – “ he said.

“Fresh air,” said Matt. “I’ll be…back in a moment.” He felt for the ground-floor button and hit it with unnecessary force, and the doors finally closed.

Outside the building, it was a cold, crisp day. Matt looked from one side to the other, almost deafened by the cacophony of downtown. He had the horrible thought that Foggy, or worse, Tony, might have followed him down, and set off at a determined pace towards the scent of coffee. There was a place on the next corner: he could tell from the smell and feel of the space that it was a Starbucks. That was in line with this day; he hated Starbucks.

He went in, went to the counter, and ordered an Americano at random. All he needed was to sit somewhere relatively quiet, he told himself, get it together, and then he could go back in and do his fucking job, rather than behaving like an infatuated teenager. He wasn’t even _gay_. He should be flirting with the girl on the till; there’d definitely been a thread of interest in her voice when she asked his name, he should have asked hers back, smiled at her…. God, it sounded exhausting.

“Americano for Matt!” a male voice called, and he moved to the end of the bar.

“I’ll take that for him,” said Tony.

Matt stiffened.

“Hey – “ there was an audible intake of breath from the barista – “you know who I am, right? My friend here needs a space he can stretch out, with his leg. Do you have a corner that’s a little more private?”

“Mr Stark!” said the barista. “Uh, sure, of course. If you go through to the back we have an extra seating area, it should be pretty empty this time of day.”

“And we’d be grateful if you could make sure it stayed that way,” said Tony, at his most charming. “Right, …Cory? Thanks a million. Matt’s my lawyer, we need to have a confidential talk, you know how it is.”

“It’s an honour to meet you, sir,” said the boy fervently.

“You too,” said Tony, and he put an arm around Matt’s shoulders and steered him down a corridor, hesitated, and then moved them purposefully towards a corner table and pulled out a chair.

Matt pressed his lips together and stayed standing.

“Oh, come on,” said Tony. “I’m _sorry_ , OK? I apologize, I realize my behaviour may have exceeded even my own very high standards of dickishness. Enough with the silent treatment. Sit down, drink your coffee.”

Matt sat down. “You’re…sorry?” he said. He couldn’t decide whether he was going to punch Tony in the face. The baristas would overpower him as a body, though, and then he’d get arrested and Foggy would be really angry.

“Yes,” said Tony. “I was…I shouldn’t have walked out on you. I should have called. I was legitimately angry, and to be fair no-one ever said I was any good at any of this, in fact, everyone in the _entire world_ knows and frequently says in print that I’m shit at this stuff. But that’s not an excuse. I hate…look, I was only just getting over Pepper, and you show up, but it seems like you’re point-blank determined to kill yourself any opportunity you get, and I’m not always going to be there, and I can’t do that. I have had it with rescuing people I care about.”

“I don’t want to kill myself,” said Matt. “I guess I – I was worried about Karen, I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would – I didn’t know you would care.”

“You have an extraordinarily low opinion of yourself,” said Tony. “No, seriously, this whole thing you’ve been expecting me to kick you out of bed every morning, haven’t you? “

“I – ” said Matt. “Yes? I mean, you can get anyone you want. I assumed you’d… moved on, after…”

“I’ve been at _headquarters_ trying to get out of Fury’s bad books for trashing parts of New York without his extra-special permission,” said Tony. “I was working on something – well, I can’t say what, obviously, but it is pretty cool. Believe me, I was not out fucking nubile young things every night.”

Matt blinked. He took a sip of coffee. So Tony hadn’t…? So he still…?

“Yeah,” said Tony. “I am really fucking unhappy about the way you conduct this Daredevil gig, and I want some input in that.” He made a frustrated sound. “It’s hard to do this when I can’t, you know, gaze into your eyes soulfully, so imagine that that’s happening right now. I’m trying to point out that I _like_ you. Sure, I can get anyone I want. Who cares? Your clothes are awful, your hair needs a lot of work, you’re a mess and all this Catholic self-loathing is going to come back and bite me in the ass, but what the hell, at least you’re never boring.”

“Oh,” said Matt. “Thanks. I think.”

“Also,” said Tony, clearly on a roll, “I realize I’m the experienced one here, so let me tell you that gay sex is not _automatically_ that good. You are seriously underestimating what we have going on if you think that I have any intention of jumping ship; I mean, you were basically a blank slate, there is a _lot_ you haven’t done yet –”

“So I want to do it,” Matt interrupted. “With you.” He felt himself blushing. “I mean, I like you too, and I can work on – the other stuff. You have to let me do my job, though. It’s not always going to be safe. I can’t – I’m not going to give it up. _Either_ job.”

“OK,” said Tony. “OK, agreed.” He took a deep breath. “I’m taking a deep breath,” he said.

“I know,” said Matt. ‘Super-senses, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” said Tony, in his bedroom voice, which was unfair.

Matt licked his lips. “Are we…dating, then?” he said. He felt like it was an inane question, but he still wasn’t entirely confident he’d grasped the situation, other than that Tony definitely wanted to have sex with him again, which was…pretty great.

Tony made a considering sound. “The thing is,” he said, “and don’t be offended, but dating me in any…official way is not a great proposition. If we stroll down the street holding hands, you’re going to get crucified by the media. Forget about practicing law, forget about protecting your identity, you’ll never be able to leave the building without twenty paparazzi on your tail, and you’ll be Tony Stark’s boyfriend or ex-boyfriend for the rest of your natural life. I mean, I have the impression you’d rather not be half of the most famous gay couple in New York, but if I’m wrong – ”

“God, no,” said Matt. “I hadn’t thought. We should – carry on as we were, then?”

“I’d like to avoid this, this whole not seeing each other for two weeks scenario, for the foreseeable future,” said Tony. “And I’m not doing an open relationship: been there, done that, still mentally scarred by the fallout. Plus, I want the option to dress you up and, you know, take you places. I’m thinking we should go away for the weekend, out to dinner somewhere discreet, there are a few reasonably presentable acquaintances who are curious about all the pining I’ve been doing lately…”

“Pining?” said Matt. He was smiling, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief, relaxation, maybe happiness. “I missed you too, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” said Tony. “Believe me, it’s painfully obvious how much you’ve been missing all this – I’m gesturing at my fine self, here.”

“Oh?” said Matt, arching an eyebrow. “Because I thought you just said you wanted us to be boyfriends, in an exclusive, long-term way, and that _you’ve_ been pining over – umm, the same.”

Tony laughed. “Kid,” he said. “You’re going to need a lot more practice to pull that off.” He broke off. “Fuck, I really want to kiss you.”

Matt blinked. Oh God, he did too. “Is there anyone here?” he said, low. He’d been too distracted – he turned his head, listening.

“No, but my barista fan is keeping an eye on us,” said Tony, “and also I have a feeling that at least half the café already posted my location on Facebook.”

Matt reached out a hand, and when Tony took it, traced a line up and down his fingers, round his palm. He didn’t care what he was supposed to be doing, about who was looking, all he cared about was that Tony was his, and he needed some proof of that, right now. He blew out a breath. Tony cleared his throat.

“Is there a bathroom?” Matt said.

“This is a terrible idea,” said Tony. “Yes. Quick, we’ve only got twenty minutes before the meeting.” He stood up.

Matt grabbed his crutches and pushed his chair back so hard he was surprised it didn’t fall over. Tony put a hand on his arm, ostensibly to steer him, and he had to fight not to drop the crutches, turn and meet his mouth. Tony dropped his hand and took half a step away.

“Fuck,” he said. “Follow me.” Matt went after him, a few steps, listening for who might be nearby, and then followed him through a door.

Tony reached round him, locked the door, and then pushed Matt against it and kissed him fiercely. They were almost exactly the same height. Matt remembered how easy this was, kissing Tony, and then forgot about it in the pleasure of something he hadn’t expected to have again, Tony’s mouth, his tongue, teasing – oh God, this was even better than Matt had remembered. His crutches fell to the ground with a loud clatter as he reached up to Tony’s face.

“Shit,” said Tony.

Matt ignored this. He groaned, and tried to press himself closer, rocking into Tony. His body had gone from nothing to desperate want in what seemed like a few seconds flat: he was actually shaking, which would have been embarrassing if he had had any time to care.

“Christ,” said Tony, in the interval of sucking on Matt’s neck. “There is no fucking way that I am blowing you in a Starbucks bathroom.” One of his hands was essentially stopping Matt from collapsing on the floor, the other moved down and cupped his crotch, and Matt groaned again.

“Please,” he said, hearing himself begging and not caring; anyway, Tony usually _really_ liked to hear him beg, “please, Tony.”

“Or maybe I am, since you ask so nicely,” said Tony, and went to his knees.

Matt groped for anything to hold onto and found the door handle. He gripped it. Tony was efficiently undoing his trousers one-handed, stroking him as Matt hardened, and then taking him out and, without warning, taking him in his mouth, heat and pressure.

“Ah!” said Matt, too loudly, and Tony pulled off, which was a disaster, and said, “Shut _up_ , do you want to be interrupted?”

Matt put his other arm over his mouth, to muffle himself, which left him balanced precariously, but it didn’t matter because Tony was taking him deep, moving quickly. Matt couldn’t let go of the door to hold his head; Tony’s hands on his hips encouraged him to move and he did, fucking Tony’s mouth and it was better than good, it was awkward and uncomfortable and perfect.

He opened his eyes behind the glasses, seeing swirls of light, and had an instant of clarity: he was having sex with Tony Stark in the bathroom of a coffee shop and it was maybe the stupidest thing he’d ever done, and also quite possibly the best moment of his life.

Tony did something insanely clever with his tongue and Matt’s attention switched wholly to his body, oh God, if Tony did that one more time he would – and Tony did it again and again, and Matt thrust helplessly into his mouth, biting his own arm, and then the feeling crested and he came in a rush. Tony swallowed around him and Matt jerked, helplessly, shivering with aftershocks.

Tony sat back and Matt’s leg gave way. He slid down onto the floor.

“Fast,” said Tony. “Good, we only have ten – ”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Uh, are you OK in there?” said a voice.

There was a moment of shared, horrified silence.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Matt called, trying to do up his pants. “Be out in a moment.” He heard Tony turning a tap on, gulping some water and splashing his face, before he came over to help to haul Matt up, efficiently tidying his clothes.

“He’s still outside,” Matt said.

“I’ve been in more embarrassing situations,” said Tony. “Come on.”

The barista made a shocked noise when they emerged. Matt’s lips felt swollen and he thought there was probably a substantial mark on his neck; he could only imagine what Tony might look like.

“Mr Stark was, err, assisting me with some mobility issues,” he said, careful to look slightly off to the right of the barista’s face. “I find new places…a little tricky at the moment.” He sagged slightly onto his crutches, for emphasis.

“I’m always happy to help,” said Tony. His voice was husky. Matt coughed, to stop himself from laughing helplessly. He heard the rustle of notes.

“Great work, Cory,” said Tony. “Have a night out on me.” He took Matt’s arm, and steered him as swiftly as possible out onto the pavement.

“Jesus Christ,” said Tony, once they were in the fresh air. “I want you to know that you are a truly appalling influence on me.”

“If you tell me you’ve never had sex in a bathroom before, I’m not going to believe you,” said Matt.

“There are bathrooms and bathrooms,” said Tony, darkly.

“Are we late for the meeting?” said Matt.

“Not – very,” said Tony. “Can you go any faster on those?” He hustled Matt into the building and over to the elevators.

They stepped in, and Tony pressed the button. Matt manoeuvred himself behind him, and pressed up against his back as best he could. Tony leaned back, and Matt kissed behind his ear.

“After this,” he said, “I want you to take me home and fuck me.”

Tony took a sharp, indrawn breath. “Let’s go right now,” he said. “We’ll call and say there was an emergency.”

“And leave Foggy with those wolves?” said Matt. “No, let’s finish this. You can wait, right?” He breathed on Tony’s neck.

“Oh God, I’ve created a monster,” said Tony, sounding extremely pleased with himself.

**

There was a hard to define silence as they both entered the room together, and the other lawyers looked somewhere in between disapproving and intrigued. The intern – who Tony probably _would_ have propositioned, except that he’d never laid eyes on her – was glaring at him spitefully. Tony didn’t bother to apologize, though Matt mumbled something as they went round opposite sides of the table to their seats. As they sat down, Tony heard Foggy whisper, “I don’t _believe_ you,” to Matt, and saw Matt shrug.

The endless back and forth across the table recommenced. Matt was smiling - he had an adorable smile, Tony wanted to make him smile like that every single day from now on – his hair was disheveled, and a button on his shirt had come undone. The edge of an impressive hickey was just visible above his shirt collar, and his whole posture was about a thousand times more relaxed than it had been earlier. He looked exactly like someone who’d just got laid in the bathroom.

God, Tony couldn’t _wait_ to get him home. He wanted to spend all afternoon fucking Matt, slowly, until he begged for it; fingers, tongue, he was so sensitive to every touch, and Tony was going to take him apart, until he couldn’t remember his own name; he was going to make this so good; and eventually he would slide into Matt, it would be perfect – of course the cast would make the logistics a little tricky, but he’d find a workaround, he was good at that. He contemplated Matt kneeling on the bed, perhaps, or just lying face down. He wondered if Matt might like to be restrained, just a little, would that work? It would certainly work the other way round, fuck, that was an insanely hot idea, letting Matt have free rein…might have to wait until he’d recovered, though…

Tony blinked, shifted and realized that he was hard, in a conference room, that he was smiling at the file in front of him in a slightly foolish way, and that Foggy had addressed a question to him.

“Umm, sorry?” he said. Beside Foggy, he saw the edges of Matt’s grin turn wicked.

“I said, are you happy with the proposed settlement, Mr Stark?” said Foggy, “or would you like some time to discuss it further?”

“Oh, I’m happy,” said Tony. “I’m thrilled, I’m delighted. Let’s settle right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this and leaving such kind comments! I have had a blast writing it. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "That Siren Song by Achray"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167086) by [PeggyStarkk (LupusUlulans)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupusUlulans/pseuds/PeggyStarkk)




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